Chance Encounter - Twisted Fate
by Darker Moon
Summary: A vacationing Muggle runs into two very odd strangers whilst in the forests of northern England and their separate quests for isolation intertwine. Rated R for the themes of suicide, sado-masochism, m/m slash, and violence.
1. Eins

A/N: This is something that sprung out of my twisted little mind the other day in Classical and Contemporary Literature. It may be a bit slow in coming as I am writing two other stories under two different pen names, but it should be quick enough.

This is in first person because I do my best "darker" works in that format. I hope it's not too irritating. The sentences are also a bit harsher and shorter than I normally write, but that's how I think when I get depressed, so that is how the story flows.

One note - this is not a biography, or even self-insertion. Just a twisted little story. I think it only deserves the R rating, but if you beg to differ, please let me know.

My rule is that as long as I am getting reviews, then I shall keep posting. Got it? Good. Now, read and enjoy! Or not, in which case feel free to flame.

Chance Encounter - Twisted Fate

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by Darker Moon

I wandered blindly through the woods, not caring where the heck I was going, hot tears streaming down my face. I was scared, full of hatred, and tired. All my life, my greatest wish had been to disappear, and I was about to take matters into my own hands, and disappear.

Completely.

Forever and ever, amen.

I carried with me a knapsack, filled with safeguards for almost every contingency. I had a broken mirror, a new bottle of pain pills, and perhaps most importantly, a first aid kit in case I changed my mind at the last minute. There were other things in there, but mostly frivolities that I hadn't felt like leaving with my family.

I reached a clearing in the woods, sat down, and didn't hesitate to pull out a shard of the mirror. I caught a glimpse of my tear-stained reflection as I-

But wait - I should probably introduce myself before I continue, right? Well, my name is Amy Elizabeth Irwin. I am twenty-six years old, born in Tennessee, and I work as the downtown history museum curator in Chattanooga. Inconspicuous enough? Not for me.

For a bit of darker family history, my mother was abusive. No one knew - no one would believe me, not even my father. I don't bruise very easily and I heal even quicker, so it was almost impossible to prove to even my friends. She was so careful. To the public eye, the Irwins were the perfect family: comparatively young parents with a single daughter. I was the family black sheep: I was smart, great at test taking, but I had no motivation. Nothing really mattered to me. I had been taught all my life that I was worthless, and that I was my mother's one mistake, and I believed it.

Obviously, this was not a very conducive environment. I moved to a friend's house when I turned eighteen, and avoided my parents at all costs. One could even go as far to say that I hated them: my mother for what she did to me, and my father for not seeing. This was the main reason my one goal in life was to disappear.

If I hated my parents, then I abhorred myself even more. The one thing I longed for most as a teenager was death, but I was slightly religious, and therefore afraid to take my fate into my own hands. At least, that was the excuse I gave myself - fear of the hereafter. But in reality, I was punishing myself. I knew that for me, death would be release, and I was determined not to reward myself if I could help it. I was practicing sadomasochism before I even knew what the word meant.

As soon as I met a real sadomasochist, I began following in her footsteps. I started off with simple things - scratching myself with a pushpin - and worked my way up to build a tolerance to pain. Yes, I still felt it, but it no longer incapacitated me. Soon, those material items were my only friends.

Once again, I kept up the charade of innocence. Any of my co-workers would gladly tell you what an agreeable person I am, and easy to work with. This was partly because I cared more for others than for myself. At any moment, no matter what, another life meant worlds more than my own.

Then, this summer, my parents invited me to come on a vacation to England with them. I would have refused, but I was to have my own hotel room and schedule. I went gladly, remembering my idolization of the United Kingdom as a child. When our trip began to draw to a close, my mother had evoked so many horrible memories that I didn't want to go home. I had a new resolve, and after careful planning, I set off on my own.

Which led me to that clearing in the woods of Northern England. I sat down in the middle of the clearing, and pulled out the sharp shard. I did not slash my wrists yet, as I had planned to do. Instead, I gave into my damned masochistic impulses and tore into the soft flesh of my inside forearm once…twice…three times. Straight, parallel slashes, strangely resembling claw marks.

This I did not do in order to move me on in my journey to the intangible, but for the morbid pleasure of seeing the pale skin give way under the sharp edge of the knife; to see the dark red liquid now streaming down my arm. A hideous vision - one that my twisted mind cherished.

Suddenly, in the red-stained reflection of the mirror, I saw something that shocked me. The body of a man, lying facedown in the nearby brush.


	2. Zwei

A/N: Thank you for reviewing if you did so. I really appreciate it. I hope that this doesn't get too morbid to be enjoyable too soon, though it probably will take that path. Please continue to review and to flame. Any and all comments are read and appreciated, no matter the sentiment. Flames, especially. I'm a pyromaniac, so I could entertain myself with them. ^_^

A warning - hints of slash emerge in this chapter, but nothing too overt.

Chance Encounter - Twisted Fate

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by Darker Moon

When I saw the body, I was disturbed. One would think that with my mental condition, I wouldn't be bothered, but as I've said, I care deeply for the well-being of others. So, stopping my hideous chore, I walked over to where the man lay.

You could barely tell what clothes he was wearing - they were torn to shreds - but they appeared to be some sort of robes. That or I had just found a maimed cross-dresser. Either way, it wasn't pretty. Under the torn bits of robe, I saw that his skin had been similarly mauled. He had obviously lost a lot of blood, but he was still warm to the touch.

Slowly, I rolled him onto his back. Miraculously or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, he was still alive. How, I had no clue, but the logistics didn't matter now. Saving him if at all possible did matter, however.

I ran back over to my pack and dragged it back to the unconscious man. I pulled out the kit I had prepared in the eventuality that I backed out of my decision - it contained an almost full bottle of disinfectant alcohol. I also grabbed my bottle of water. Tearing off a piece of my tee shirt, I doused it in water and began to clean away the blood caked onto his clothes and frail body. Once I had done that, I used a fresh piece of cloth to apply the alcohol.

The man slowly revived as I tended to him, wincing every time I pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth to his wounds. Under the dried blood, I saw that he had fair skin and light brown hair, though I could not find any form of identification on him.

Soon, however, I ran out of alcohol, as I knew I inevitably must. Even though his skin had begun to lose its' deathly pallor, I knew that at best, all I had done was to prolong a rather painful death for this man.

In defeat, I hung my head. I was not religious, but my parents were, so it was to their God that I began praying for this man's health. As far as I knew, miracles didn't happen, but this was a prime time for one to occur if they did.

There was a rustling in the bushes nearby and the man's eyes popped open for the first time, revealing eyes that looked as if they had previously been green, but now held a yellow-goldish tint, strange as that sounds. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a tall robed man emerge from the brush.

I got up and staggered back, in awe of this newcomer. He looked as if he had once been broad-shouldered, muscular, and very good-looking, but had spent several years in a cave or a coma, with only ghosts of his former appearance showing. His aura practically screamed convict, and his face might have been terrifying if it hadn't been marred by an expression of the purest worry.

"Holy fuck…Moony, how in Merlin's name…" he said, kneeling beside the injured man, who was obviously Moony. He picked up the empty alcohol bottle and glanced over, noticing me for the first time.

His hand twitched as if aching to clutch some weapon hidden under his robes. "Is this yours?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes…Padfoot…" croaked Moony, his voice hoarse and scratchy but amazingly soft and calm - as if these injuries were nothing to be excited about. "She helped me - did what she could." It was the first time I'd heard him speak, so it took me a moment before I had the presence of mind to nod and confirm this story. I remain silent out of awe and respect, not fear. Something about this whole situation impressed itself upon me.

"Then I have to thank you. If it weren't for you, I might have arrived here too late," said Padfoot, shuddering at the thought. "If there is some way to repay you…"

I moved closer once again, drawn by an unknown force. Moony had his eyes closed, drifting towards unconsciousness. "Will he be all right?" I asked cautiously.

"I think so…if I don't screw something up," muttered Padfoot, looking at me with a strange intensity. Suddenly, he reached out to grab my left wrist, looking at my blood-covered and slashed forearm. Using the edge of his robe sleeve, he wiped away the blood to see the three claw-like gashes I had made. Frowning, he turned back to his wounded friend. "Moony, did you…?"

"No…no one," said Moony weakly, sounding as if he were far away.

"What happened to you?" asked Padfoot warily.

I stuck my free hand into my pocket and fingered my piece of broken glass out of nervous habit. "Nothing," I said quickly, feeling trapped. Surely if he knew what I'd been planning, he would do something drastic. Normal people just wouldn't understand. The healthy just can't sympathize with the sick.

Padfoot looked far from convinced, but he said nothing more on the subject. Sighing, he said, "You will have to come with us, I'm afraid. I can assure you that you are in no danger, but we, on the other hand, might be. Now, Miss-"

"Elizabeth," I supplied, giving him my middle name. "Call me…Beth. But, really, couldn't I just stay here? I know how to get back to town on my own."

"Miss Beth, then. No, I can't allow you to stay here, not after what you've seen, or with your arm in the state it is in. I will already be healing Moony, so I can help you as well."

I frowned. What exactly was he driving at? He obviously had either guessed what I was up to, was in trouble with the law and couldn't risk me telling anyone, or both. Either way, I had no choice. I was no combatant and I knew even a man in such a poor state as he could easily take me.

He continued, speaking hesitantly, "You may see some strange things, but think nothing of it. Can you do that?"

Despite the fact that he was most obviously speaking down to me, I felt compelled to obey. I nodded.

"Good." He reached into the hidden pocket of his robes and pulled out a long thin stick. What could that be for? A splint of some sort? He pointed it at Moony, and muttered something that sounded like Latin.

Magically, Moony began levitating about two feet off the ground, as if supported by an invisible floating stretcher. How is he doing that? I don't see any support wires or anything else…I know for sure he didn't slip anything under him for support, not without some very advanced sleight of hand… I was seriously puzzled. 

Padfoot motioned for me to follow him, so I grabbed my rucksack and complied wordlessly, following him blindly through the woods. My mind was racing. What kind of names were Moony and Padfoot? Surely they were hiding something…but what? What had I unwillingly gotten myself into?


End file.
